He Comes in the Night 1
by Be Rose
Summary: When she took the injured man into her home she only saw a fellow human being in need of help. Too soon she realised this might have been a mistake. By then it was too late. M for language, lemon, and adult themes. Romance? You tell me.
1. Chapter 1

**He comes in the night**

 **A.N. :This story is set after DMC1. There will be four parts (already written, may need some editing). Three weekly updates to come.  
**

 **I don't own Vergil. He doesn't own me. But apparently he owns my OC. He showed me his extreme displeasure when I said she was mine.**

 **Part1**

The wet miserable day had turned into a cold miserable evening. I was home late from work. An accident caused by bad weather and worse driving had left me stuck in the tailback and had delayed my escape from the noise and fumes of the city by an hour. It was dark by the time I got home. I hung my coat and scarf on the coat stand, changed my boots for comfy slippers and went into the kitchen. As usual the heating had come on half an hour before my earliest due time. Because of the delay the living room and kitchen had had time to become toasty warm. Only in the entrance hall did the damp chill still linger.

A nice warming stew had been simmering in the slow cooker. Just the right thing to have on a day like this. After dinner I washed the dishes and lit the open fire. While that got going I did a bit more of the translation I had brought home to finish in the weekend. The old clock chimed nine when I finally sat down with a cup of cacao and a good book.

I was in the middle of a tense chapter when the doorbell rang. I decided to ignore it. Whoever was out there would have to come back in the morning. I had no intention to move. But my unexpected guest didn't want to be ignored. The doorbell rang again, insistently, as if the idiot at the door was leaning on it. I got up determined to tell him to sod off.

In the hallway the shrill ringing of the bell was even more annoying. Then I heard the banging on the door and I knew who was out there. For a moment I hesitated, thinking this time I would not let him in. Just for a moment.

I knew all too well that if I didn't open the door he would just break it down, step over the broken pieces, and say, "Woman, I could smell your presence. Did you think a piece of wood would stop me from taking what is mine?"

I opened the door and he came in, just far enough to stop me from closing it again.

"You were going to leave me standing in the rain."

"Hi, Vergil. Come in so I can close the frigging door. It's too cold to leave it open."

"And yet you wanted to leave me in the cold. It took you several minutes before you opened the door."

"I was sitting comfortably. It took me a while to get up and find my slippers. I'm not actually in the habit of bivouacking in the hallway on the off chance that you will honour me with a visit. You're too irregular a visitor for that."

He stopped my tirade with a kiss. His lips were cold and wet

He held my head with one hand, and kissed me, hard, forcing my mouth open, tasting me. Rain dripped from his hair onto my face and down my throat. I shivered. His other hand went into my blouse, buttons popping as he pulled it off me. He caressed my body with his cold, damp hand. The rain on his coat seeped through the remnants of my blouse and bra. I shivered and blamed the cold. A moan escaped me and I knew it was desire.

He pulled away from me, looked at me with cold eyes.

"Foolish woman. Don't make me wait outside again."

He walked towards the living room, dripping water on the way. Shivering I closed and locked the door and followed him.

He'd taken off his coat and hung it on one of the high-backed chairs. His boots stood next to it. The man himself was sitting in the sofa, in _my_ spot, looking at the book I'd been reading.

"Your taste in literature is still deplorable," he said, tossing the book on the coffee table.

The bookmark flew out and I swallowed a curse.

"What should I read then? The Demonic Tales of 1001 Nights? The Devil's Kama Sutra?"

In the blink of an eye he stood next to me. The speed of his movements still surprised me, even after all this time. Before I knew what had happened he held my wrists in one hand behind my back, scraped the nails of his other hand gently over my exposed upper body, and trailed with the tip of his tongue from my brow to my ear.

"I could instruct you in the best of the latter," he whispered.

His voice sounded deeper than normal, rumbling through my body. His eyes flickered, and I knew he was about to trigger.

"Are you hungry? I've got some stew in the kitchen," I said, trying to destroy the moment.

I failed. He laughed with that strange laugh of his, mirthless, cold, barely touching his mouth, never reaching his eyes.

"You look more appetising than any food could do. Don't try to waste time when we both know what we really want. You even more than I," he said.

There was danger in his voice, danger in his eyes, danger in his hands that roamed my body, knew too well how to arouse me, and made me forget everything except one thing.

"Take me, Vergil, take me. Give me what I need. Please."

"Only when you say the magic words. Say it!" he ordered, and I obeyed.

"I'm yours, Vergil, I'm yours. I'm your possession to do with as you please."

And he did as he pleased, in front of the open fire, without tenderness, just to fulfil _his_ devilish need and _my_ all too human one. When he was satisfied he got up, leaving me naked, used, humiliated, and on a deep dark level more completely contented than the sweetest lovemaking with any other man could ever have achieved.

I closed my eyes and tried to take hold of the satisfaction to fill my whole being with it, past the humiliation of being treated as an object, past the anger I felt because I let him use me like this.

I heard Vergil return and sit down on the sofa. I knew he had poured a glass of the expensive whiskey that I kept just for him. He usually did.

"Your attempt at seduction is futile. I am no longer interested. Cover yourself."

It was a rude awakening from the dreamlike state of contentment I had just managed to attain.

"You bastard," I said, grabbing the last remnants of dignity I possessed.

"I can assure you I am not. Sparda and Eva were joined in several ceremonies: human, devil, and demon ones. She wanted to be sure about their union before allowing him to touch her. You on the other hand …"

He didn't have to finish his sentence. He wouldn't have been able to. I picked up a cushion from the sofa and threw it at him with perfect accuracy. I hit the glass as he was raising it, and I smiled when the whiskey went over his clothes instead of in his mouth. I walked past him, ignoring the growl and the dangerous light in his eyes.

I had feared him – and in a way I still did – but one day I had reached a level of fear that could not be maintained. His merest movement, the merest word he had spoken had sent my heart beating so fast that I thought it would jump out of my chest. I could have died of fright. That's when self-preservation had kicked in. I had gone past the fear-threshold and had accepted the danger he presented. I had stopped being a shivering wreck and had become myself again.

He grabbed my arm as I went by and pulled me round to face him.

"Don't you ever dare do that again," he said, still with the deep growl to his voice.

"Don't you ever call me a whore again," I retaliated.

"But you are a whore. I don't recall that we shared vows in front of witnesses."

"No, we didn't, but you know full well that no other man has touched me since I became yours. So don't insinuate I can be had by anyone."

"You could have stopped me the first time. Who knows, I might have respected you for it. Perhaps I would have made you my wife and mate, as Sparda did with Eva."

"Don't make me laugh. You're not the marrying kind; you're the using kind."

His grip on my arm had slackened. I pulled it free and left him to put some clothes on. I wished I could get rid of him; I wished I could resist him; I wished I had never met him. But it had been my fate to become his plaything when I had taken him into my home.

ooOOoo


	2. Chapter 2

**He comes in the night**

 **A.N.: I hope you don't mind longer chapters. The remaining ones are all a lot longer than the first one. This is the longest.**

 **To** **JamieLynnKenway** **: Thank you for the review, for following, and for adding the story to your favourites.** **To** **Guest** **: Thank you for the review.  
** **To** **Amethyst-Phoenixx** **: Thank you for the review and for adding the story to your favourites.  
** **To** **OffTheDeepEndx** **: Thank you for adding the story to your favourites.  
** **To** **XionNight** **: Thank you for adding the story to your favourites.  
** **To** **JujuMel** **: Thank you for following and for adding the story to your favourites.  
To every reader: Thank you for reading.  
**

 **Part2**

I remembered the first time I had met him: a weak and pathetic, barely walking skeleton wearing a stained, ripped sheet like a poncho, his hair grey with dirt, his eyes dull and lifeless.

I had been at the office later than normal and had hit the daily exodus from the city. By the time I arrived at my home it was dark. As I walked from the garage to the house I saw something lying in front of the door. When I was close enough to see more clearly I thought somebody had emptied a bin of bloody rags and bones on my porch. Then the pile moved and groaned in pain. A skeletal arm, bruised and bloody, reached towards the bench and missed. I grabbed it instead, gently because it looked so breakable.

With my help the bag of bones got up. He stood shakily on his legs but was still taller than me. In hindsight my next action was stupid, but as they say: hindsight is 20/20. I didn't know who he was. All I saw was a fellow human being in need.

"Come inside," I said. "We'll clean you up and do something about those wounds."

I led him inside and to the right into the small spare bedroom I have on the ground floor. I use it occasionally when I've been on an outing and I can't face the trek upstairs to my bedroom. It is sparsely furnished with just a bed, a nightstand and a chest of drawers; on the nightstand an alarm clock and a light. It also has a small shower room.

My unexpected guest sniffed as soon as we entered the room and turned towards the door to the little bathroom.

"Water," he said in a croaking whisper. "Shower? Bath?"

"It's a shower room," I replied.

He pulled the sheet and tore the rotted cloth from his body. He looked as if he'd come straight from a concentration camp, painfully thin, covered in sores, and with some serious wounds that were bleeding profusely.

"You need a doctor!"

"No! No doctor."

His whisper was as determined as a whisper can be.

"You need a doctor," I said. "A plaster won't be enough."

"No doctor," he said again.

"I can't take care of those wounds. You need a professional," I said, leaving him standing.

I didn't even reach the door. He pushed me against the wall and held me down forcefully.

"I said, no doctor!" he shouted.

How was he capable of mustering such strength? I started shaking with fear. Surely he was an escaped prisoner, wanted by the law. A violent criminal, judging by his actions. A murderer perhaps. I was ready to promise him anything.

"Okay, okay. No doctor," I mumbled.

He let go of me, walked into the shower room and closed the door. When he came out as naked as the day he was born he was a clean skeleton with hair that shone like freshly fallen snow and ice-blue eyes that were colder than a glacier lake. Some of his deeper wounds still bled a bit, the rest had stopped.

While he had been under the shower I had fetched my first aid kit. He sat down on the edge of the bed, not caring about his state of undress. I bandaged the deeper wounds and put plasters on the smaller ones. The first aid kit I left on the chest of drawers for future use.

"You should try to sleep," I said while gathering together bits of gauze and plaster to throw away. "It will help the healing process."

As I was about to go he grabbed my arm. The shower had obviously perked him up a lot because his voice was clear and coherent when he spoke.

"No doctor, no police," he said. "Don't tell anyone I am here. Promise me, on your honour."

I wasn't sure I could promise until he squeezed harder and my arm hurt.

"I promise, I promise. I won't tell anyone," I quickly said.

"On your honour," he insisted.

"Okay, if you wish. On my honour."

I left him then and when I looked into the room an hour later he seemed to be asleep. Before I went to bed I decided to take a glass of water to him, in case he became thirsty in the night. I was as quiet as a mouse gently putting the glass on the nightstand, but suddenly he sat up in bed.

"Who are you? What are you doing?" he demanded to know, again squeezing my arm painfully.

"I'm the owner of this house. I let you in and bandaged you. Don't you remember? I just brought a glass of water for you. Please let me go. You're hurting my arm."

Recognition dawned in his eyes and he let go of me. He didn't thank me. He just turned his back to me, dismissing me from his mind. I posed no threat.

Next morning, after taking him his breakfast and having mine, I got ready to go into the city. I had to be there for my job and I intended to get some clothes for my unexpected guest. It was safer anyway to spread those purchases over different shops in the city, rather than buy everything at the one clothes shop in my local – small – town where they knew there was no man in my life. Gossips would have a field day if they found out.

Before I went I wanted to check if I could take the breakfast tray back to the kitchen. He was nowhere near as groggy as he had been the previous day. His cold eyes took in my coat and handbag.

"You do not need to go out," he said.

"Think again, buster. I need to show up for work today and arrange it so I can stay away for a couple of weeks. And you can't run around the place in nothing but your skin. That fetching poncho you were waring has been thrown out."

I sounded much more confident than I felt. The bruises on my arms where he had grabbed me still hurt.

"Remember, you promised on your honour. No police, no doctor, not anybody."

"Don't worry. I realise you're an escaped prisoner, a violent criminal no doubt. I have no intention of risking my neck."

"That is a wise decision."

He smiled and that was scarier than any amount of shouting and growling could have been. That smile promised dire consequences if I didn't do exactly as he said.

The drive into the city was as dreadful as usual. Too much traffic, not enough patience by anyone, including myself this time. It didn't take long for me to arrange a couple of weeks of 'working from home'. I had done it before and providing I delivered my work on time I could do as I pleased. Instead of going straight home I drove to a parking near the shopping district. Going to different shops meant it took me longer to get the things I wanted. I took the precaution of going to shops that did women's clothes as well. Once bagged nobody could see that I had bought only men's attire. It pays to be careful.

Before returning home I stopped at the supermarket to get enough supplies to fill my fridge and freezer in the kitchen as well as the spares in the garage. It wouldn't do to suddenly buy a lot more food than normal. The anonymity of the city has advantages sometimes.

By the time I was home it was well past midday. I quickly made a cold lunch and took some to him. When I opened the door and looked in he seemed to be asleep. Silently I took the tray inside to put it on the chest of drawers. Obviously I was not silent enough.

"You are late."

The sudden cold voice nearly made me drop the tray.

"Fucking hell! Could you stop doing that?"

"Where have you been?" he asked, ignoring what I had said.

"To work and to the shops, just as I told you. And if you dare say anything about me being late again I'll drop this tray in your lap. I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I hate driving in the city, so just shut up."

I put the tray on his lap and left before he could say another word. I wanted to be out of that room before I said or did something I might regret, especially in view of the sudden strength he had displayed already. After I had had my lunch I went to collect the tray and give him the pyjamas I had bought.

"I don't know if you usually wear pyjamas but I got these for you," I said, putting them on the bed next to him.

"Cotton, not silk," he said. "Not ideal but acceptable, and you chose the right colour."

"I'm so glad I got something right," I said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

The look he gave me was colder and more dangerous than I had ever seen, even from him. I wished I could just ignore him. I wished I had to courage to lock him in that room and leave him to die of hunger and thirst. Something told me that would be a bad idea. I was sure he would break down the door as soon as I had turned the key. I was sure that if I wanted to survive I would have to take care of him until he was well and able to leave. I hoped he wouldn't kill me before he went.

Over the next days I treated his wounds that healed clean and surprisingly fast. He was still very thin but at the rate he went through my supplies that wouldn't be for very long. As soon as he could he started to exercise. One day after breakfast he asked for some clothes and joined me for lunch in the kitchen. Afterwards he went out the kitchen door, ran across the yard, jumped the fence, and continued running. Soon he was out of sight, and I thought or at least hoped he would not show up again. He was back in time for dinner.

I wondered why he stayed. Mightn't the police eventually follow his trail to my front door? He didn't seem concerned about that possibility. Instead of hiding as much as possible, he started to do odd jobs around the place in broad daylight. He chopped wood, emptied the gutters, and fixed the roof on the garage. I realised that he did those chores to build up his strength and not for my benefit, but I had to admit that it was handy to have a man about the house.

Three months later there was nothing left of the filthy skeleton covered in wounds that I had found on my doorstep. Instead I shared my house with an extremely handsome, muscly man, and I had to remind myself constantly that he was not a desirable bachelor but a hardened criminal, probably wanted by the police. He had never told me why I had found him in such a terrible state, and I had never asked. I felt it was better if I knew as little as possible about him.

One evening after dinner he said, "I believe you will be going to the city tomorrow. I will come with you. I will tell you where I need to be."

It was not a request, and because he wanted to be away early we were stuck in the daily traffic jam. I hated it and I hoped my passenger would keep his mouth shut because I was inwardly cursing him for being in this situation.

"Left at the next lights," he said suddenly, stabbing through my dark thoughts.

"What?"

"Do not argue, woman. Turn left at the next lights."

I shrugged and did as he said. A few more turns took us into the Old Town District and on towards the least savoury part of the city. My hope that this was a quick route to Main Street was soon shattered.

"Park here. I will be back in an hour," he ordered.

"Park here for an hour? Are you nuts? I could be robbed, raped, and murdered in that time – several times over. You tell me the quickest way to get to Main Street and I will be back in an hour. I'll sort out my business at work while you do whatever you want to do in this part of town."

He looked at me with those cold eyes of his, and I thought he would just take the key out of the ignition and leave me stranded. Instead he nodded, told me how to get to my workplace, and walked towards a dilapidated building across the road. I was off in a shot.

His instructions were spot-on, and I reached work way earlier than I had anticipated. I left the translation I had finished and picked up the necessary papers for the next job, had a cup of coffee and a chat with my colleagues, and left in plenty of time to pick up my guest.

Going back was not as straightforward as I had hoped. A couple of one-way streets meant that I had to search a bit for my destination. I arrived about ten minutes after the promised hour. A man was standing by the side of the road, and it was only when I came closer that I recognised him by his white hair.

He no longer wore the faded jeans, white t-shirt, and cheap training shoes I had given him. Under an elaborately decorated, beautifully designed, and no doubt astronomically expensive silk coat he wore a vest of unusual design. It had the same colour as his trousers: a blue so dark it was nearly black. With it he wore tan leather boots. In his hand he held a sword in a black lacquered scabbard, oriental in style I thought. He looked like the prince in every fairy story I had read, the intrepid hero of romance novels, but he was real, and dangerous.

When I stopped next to him he looked down on me with cold indifference.

"You are late … again. Can you not read a clock? Or do you habitually ignore promises?"

"Sorry, got confused with the one-way streets," I mumbled, too aware of how gorgeous he was as he sat down next to me.

On the way back to my place we stopped at the supermarket to get some more supplies. He had an appetite like a wolf, and consumed large amounts of meat, more in one sitting than I ate in a week. I went in alone because he preferred to stay in the car. I zoomed round the shop as fast as possible. I would not give him a reason to nag about my tardiness again. To my surprise he didn't make any comment at all.

I'm afraid that once we were out of the city my mind was more on my passenger than on the road. Here I was sitting next to a man who seemed to have come straight out of a dream, but this Prince Charming was probably – _probably? More like: without a doubt_ – a very dangerous criminal. Who else could go unarmed into a building in that part of town and come out looking like he did?

It was madness. I was thinking like an infatuated teen just because he was handsome and well-dressed. Then I had to acknowledge that his clothes had little to do with it. I realised that all those times I had been staring out the window while doing the dishes was not because I was pondering some tricky translation. I had been admiring the rippling of his muscles and the way the sun played on his flawless, alabaster skin.

The thought shocked me back to reality. I was relieved he couldn't know what I'd been thinking about. That knowing smile I caught from the corner of my eye could not have anything to do with what I had been feeling for days could it? Surely not.

Just then we had reached the last stretch of road to my drive. Despite my repeated demands repairs on it kept being delayed. Meanwhile the potholes became deeper and deeper. I couldn't avoid them all no matter how much I tried to zigzag around them. The car danced across the road, and every time I hit a rut my passenger moaned.

Finally we turned into the drive and moments later I stopped the car in front of the house. He had his eyes closed. He didn't look well, and I saw that he held a hand against his side.

"You're injured," I cried out. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"It is nothing, just a scratch," the he-man hissed through his teeth.

"Yes, I can tell from the look on your face. Get inside and get undressed. I'll get the med kit," I ordered.

"You interfering woman. Leave me alone," he growled.

I did. I took the shopping inside and put everything in its appropriate place. He was still in the car when I had finished, so I went out with the first-aid kit.

"Let me see that wound," I said.

Reluctantly he opened his jacket and vest. The wound was nowhere near as bad as I had feared. I bandaged it and helped him out of the car. He brushed any further assistance away and walked to his room unaided. I thought it best to leave him. Let him sleep off his irritation for a bit. But first I took him a late lunch of bread and cheese. I had some myself and tried to work on the new translation I had brought home, but couldn't concentrate on it at all. Since I had acknowledged my attraction to him, I couldn't get him out of my mind. I kept imagining what would happen if that attraction were mutual.

Eventually I gave up on my futile attempts to do some work. I decided to make a nice dinner instead, hoping that it would calm my fevered brain, but first I went to check on him to see if he needed anything. I knocked at the door to the bedroom. When I didn't hear anything I opened it to see if he was okay or even still there.

It was like stepping into my daydream. He was lying on top of the bed on his side, not a stitch on him. I was frozen to the spot, drinking in the image. His skin had an unearthly glow cast by the afternoon sun filtered through the curtains. Although he was asleep and totally relaxed he didn't look vulnerable. I guessed by now that he slept like a wild animal. The power in his body could be unleashed in a millisecond. I was mesmerised. I didn't even realise I had closed the door and was walking towards him.

As I sat down on the bed I told myself that I only wanted to check the bandage. I touched it to make sure the dressing hadn't shifted. My hand didn't stop there. I followed the contour of his hips, felt the powerful muscles of his thigh.

He was not asleep. Before I knew what had happened I was on my back. He was half on top of me, holding my hands down above my head with one hand and caressing my body underneath my shirt with the other.

"Please, let me go," I asked.

He laughed. "For days your scent has told me that you want this. Your action confirmed it. Are you going to deny that you want me?"

"But I don't even know your name," I said illogically, as if names had anything to do with this.

"Vergil, my name is Vergil."

"V…Vergil, please, please don't," I stammered.

It was too late. The front of my blouse was torn open, my bra ripped to pieces. With perfect accuracy his mouth found the sensitive spots that aroused my desire.

And even if I was still stammering, "Don't, don't, don't;" every fibre of my body was crying out, "Yes, yes, finally."

When he kissed my mouth I stopped. The taste of him went to my head like pure alcohol. I let myself sink into the feelings he awoke within me. He had let go of my hands and they began their own exploration of his body.

The button and zip of my skirt were ripped to pieces, the cloth whipped from underneath me. My undies were torn and discarded, thrown on the rags that had been my clothes. His lips trailed kisses down my neck, played with my nipples until they were hard, found sensitive places that I didn't even knew existed, until he reached my most sensitive spot. My hands were entwined in his silky hair, stroking and pulling it in turn.

He had brought me to the edge and I was babbling, "Yes, Vergil, now, please now, take me, Vergil, take me."

He stopped suddenly and I wanted more, I wanted all of him. I _needed_ all of him.

"You are mine now," he said. "You are my property and no one else can have you, not ever."

"Not ever," I repeated.

"Say it. Promise you are mine; say that you are my property."

His hand was playing with me, making clear thought impossible.

"I'm yours, your property," I agreed.

"You will never be with another man again. Say it!"

"I will never be with another man again," I repeated.

Still he was toying with me, getting me closer to the climax. He was a wizard taking me to heights I didn't know could be reached without exploding.

I was panting, "V…v…Ver…Vergil, P..p…please. I'm…I'm yours, I'm yours."

Suddenly I was tossed into a wild torrent, a confusion of desire and satisfaction how could there even be another man after this. He needn't have said it. He needn't have asked me to confirm it. I was his, no matter what he did with me, I was his forever.

Afterwards I wanted to cuddle up to him, to feel his arm around me. He didn't. Instead he pulled away from me.

"Please leave. We both had what we wanted, and it was more than satisfactory. I will be happy to repeat this but not now."

There was no warmth in his eyes, just cool indifference. I got up, picked the remnants of my clothes off the ground and left. I'd fallen from seventh heaven into reality with a smack.

I made a quick dinner rather than the elaborate one I had planned. He came into the kitchen just as the food was ready. Not a bad move on his part as I had just decided I wasn't going to take him any. We ate in silence, then I cleared the table and started on the dishes, totally ignoring him.

It was a futile gesture. My lack of interest didn't bother him, while I could still feel his touch all over my body. I could have screamed in frustration. Now that I had had a taste of his lovemaking I just wanted more.

The washing-up finished I returned to the living room and picked up the translation work, hoping that this time it would distract me. Vain hope. The letters danced in front of my eyes, rearranging themselves into his features.

Suddenly he was standing next to me.

"Foolish woman. Do you think you can hide your feelings from me? Did I not tell you that you were mine?"

"I'm trying to work, Vergil," I said.

"I believe you are failing to work," he remarked.

He was caressing my brow, brushing my hair out of my face, trailing a finger down my neck and along the top of my blouse.

"Please, Vergil," I whispered.

"Come, and I _will_ please you."

He pulled me up, out of the chair, and I didn't really struggle. I followed him to the rug in front of the open fire. This time he didn't tear my clothes to pieces. He told me to keep still. Then he started to undress me as if I were a doll, touching more of my skin than necessary. He stroked my back as he pushed down my blouse, caressed my breasts while undoing my bra, and my belly and legs tingled by the time he ordered me to step out of my skirt.

He lay me down on the tick carpet and – starting with my face - he kissed every inch of my body. By the time he was pulling my undies down I was shivering with desire. He did things with his hands, his lips, and his tongue that made me moan. My body bucked, pushing into him of its own accord. Just like the first time he somehow managed to intensify my desire to an unbelievable height before fulfilling the need that drove me to obey him.

Afterwards instead of getting up with an insult in my direction he pulled me close to him. I lay on his shoulder with his arm around me, my free arm across his body, and our legs intertwined. I could hardly believe his tenderness. From the moment he had arrived in my life he had been cold, insulting, and domineering. For a moment I wondered when Prince Charming would turn back into the Beast. _Best not to think of that and enjoy what I had when I had it_.

In the morning I woke up in my bed with no recollection of how I got there. I presumed he had carried me upstairs and tucked me in. I must have been sleeping like a hibernating bear, and just as long judging by the angle of the sun shining through the window. I was amazed he hadn't knocked on my door yet, slinging a jibe about timekeeping my way.

I jumped out of bed and quickly got ready. On my way down I saw that the door to the spare bedroom was open. The sheets had been taken off the bed, the blanket neatly folded. I wondered if perhaps his wound had opened in the night. I found the sheets in a basket in the washroom, not a trace of blood on them.

He wasn't in the kitchen or outside. For the first time in months I had breakfast on my own, lunch on my own, dinner on my own. When I climbed up the stairs late at night I finally accepted that he had gone out of my life as unexpected and sudden as he had entered it.

ooOOoo


	3. Chapter 3

**He comes in the night**

 **A.N. : **

**To maryneedham1994: Thank you for following, and for adding the story to your favourites.**  
 **To halo1983: Thank you for following.**  
 **To Mona-The-Hunter: Thank you for following, and for adding the story to your favourites.**  
 **To Rebs2677: Thank you for following.**  
 **To all readers: Thank you for reading.**

 **Part3**

The second Saturday after Vergil's disappearance I gave in to the request of Jenny, a colleague, to go out for the night. I realised she had only asked me because I was the only one she knew who didn't have a boyfriend, and her boyfriend Marc had a friend, Wes, who had just broken up with his girlfriend which meant their couples date was a person short.

I'm normally not into blind dates, and this evening reminded me again why not. First my date talked non-stop about his ex-girlfriend. That lasted until she walked in with her new boyfriend. Immediately he put his arm around me and tried to pull me close to him. Next he turned his head to kiss me. I put my hand up just in time and his kiss landed on my fingers.

"No, no kisses please," I told him.

"Oh, come on. Nobody's gonna care. It's not as if you have a boyfriend who might object," he said.

I thought about Vergil and his insistence that I was his. He would very much object to this. I could hear him ask if I habitually ignored promises.

"Who says I haven't got a boyfriend. Just because he's away for the moment doesn't mean he would like it if I kissed another man."

"Oh! I didn't know," Wes said. His arm slipped from my shoulder and he sighed "You're right, of course. I didn't like it when I saw Karina kissing another guy." He sighed again. "At least Marc and Jenny are having a great time," he added, pointing towards his friend and my colleague.

He started to talk about his ex-girlfriend again, and the reason of the split-up. I let him talk. He didn't need me to respond, just to listen. I was looking at the couples on the dance-floor and imagined what it might be like to dance with Vergil. _Pathetic!_

It was a relief when Wes noticed the cute blonde girl that had been eyeing him all evening.

"Would you mind?" he asked, which I thought was sweet of him.

"Not at all," I answered. "Go ahead. I think she likes you."

They seemed to get along very well and soon I was sitting at a table with two couples. Wes did his best to include me in his conversation but I was very much surplus to requirement. I managed to get a private word with Jenny during a visit to the ladies' room.

"Jenny, I've decided to go home," I said. "Wes has found a new girl, so he won't miss me."

"What a rotten thing to do," Jenny said. "And Marc said he was a nice guy."

"He _is_ a nice guy. He even asked my permission to talk to this girl. But he's not the right guy for me."

"Okay then. Will you get home all right?"

"Sure, no problem."

I still needed to get my handbag and coat which meant disturbing Wes and his new girl.

"Wes, could I have my coat. You're sitting on it, and I want to go home," I said.

"Please, don't go on my account," the girl said. "I don't want to ruin your night out."

"It's fine, really. You're not ruining anything. On the contrary. Now I can go without spoiling Wes' evening," I assured her.

I took a taxi home – which was not cheap but a lot quicker than the bus – and went straight to bed. That night I dreamed of Vergil … in a tender mood.

ooOOoo

On the Sunday I had a long lie in, trying to hold on to the dream. It slowly faded and I got up. The morning dragged on. I read a bit, went for a walk, did some weeding in the garden, had lunch, read a bit more. In the afternoon Jenny called. She thanked me for my help the previous day.

"We wouldn't have had a good time if you hadn't been there with Wes," she said.

"Glad I could help. How did it go with Wes and his new girl?"

"We're going out again today, the four of us. Tina says she knows this wonderful Italian restaurant."

"Tina? Is that her name?" I asked.

"Sorry, you didn't know yet. Yeah, that's her name."

"Well, have a nice evening, Jenny."

"We will. Ciao."

She hung up and I went back to my book. The day couldn't be more typically Sunday boring. Thankfully the book wasn't. I barely put it down long enough to have some dinner.

My reading session was interrupted by the doorbell. I looked up and noticed how dark the room was outside the small circle of my reading light. I was surprised it was ten already. I wondered who could be at the door at this hour. In the hallway I could hear the banging on the door. I looked through the spyhole. Blue coat, white hair, a scowl on his face because I had kept him waiting. It was as if he had never gone.

I opened the door and no sooner was he inside or he pulled me to him and kissed me. He pushed the door to, lifted me up and carried me into the nearest room, the bedroom that had been his. I lost another outfit to his eagerness to have my clothes off, and noticed with some irritation that he took his time to get undressed himself.

It was my last coherent thought. Next moment I was filled with the sensations of his roving hands caressing me, his delicate kisses igniting my nerve ends, his more demanding kisses claiming me as his. My reaction to him was just as intense. I wanted to taste him, feel his skin on mine, have him inside me, filling me. I thought it impossible that his lovemaking could be as satisfying as before; but it was even more fulfilling.

He stayed two more days. Days in which we barely left the bedroom, and didn't bother to get fully dressed when we went to the kitchen to have something to eat. On the third morning I woke up alone. The neat pile with his clothes and sword was gone. He had disappeared again and I didn't know when or even if he would return.

ooOOoo

A week later he was back, ringing the bell, banging the door. Without a word he took me to his bedroom, fulfilled his need – and mine – and left again.

He became part of my life. Not regularly but when the mood took him, I suppose. It could be a week, a week and a half, sometimes even two, but never longer.

On one occasion he arrived with blood dripping from the bottom of his sleeve. When I wanted to get the first aid kit he stopped me.

"Don't fuss, woman. It is merely a scratch," he said.

"A scratch? There is blood everywhere."

I'm sure I sounded hysterical. I tugged at his coat and eventually got it off him and checked his arms. To my surprise I couldn't find anything. Not a wound or bruise, not even a scratch.

"Does that satisfy your curiosity?" he asked.

I nodded, confused because he wasn't injured, despite the blood I had seen.

"Then it is time to satisfy another need," he said, lifted me up and carried me into the bedroom.

And always we would … no, not make love. Love had little to do with it. We had sex, and he would leave. Simple as that.

This went on for months. Days had shortened, night-time arrived earlier, and so did he. And then it stopped. Two weeks passed, two and a half, three, and still he hadn't shown. I longed for his return. It was like a gnawing feeling that left a great big hole only he could fill. I was glad I didn't need to go into work for a while. I was restless and short-tempered. At least here at home only inanimate objects got the full force of my anger directed at them.

Nearly four weeks had gone before he returned. As soon as darkness had fallen I had become restless, pacing from the living room to the kitchen and back, over and over again. Then the doorbell rang. In the hallway I heard the familiar knocking on the door, sounding more impatient than ever. I rushed to open it.

He came in, slammed the door shut, and pushed me forcefully against the wall. His hand on my neck was squeezing harder than I liked. He looked at me with cold anger which frightened me more than any violent outburst could have done.

"What witchcraft have you used on me to make me return?" he growled.

"Witchcraft? What do you mean witchcraft?" I asked.

"You are not a succubus; you don't smell like a demon. So what spell did you use on me, you witch?"

"I'm no witch. Or a succubus. Anyway, who's bewitching whom here? What spell did _you_ use to make me want you so much? How is it possible that I can't resist you? Why do I let you treat me the way you do? Your merest touch makes me yours. What demonic powers have _you_ used on _me_?"

"I'm not a demon," he snarled. "I'm a devil."

His eyes changed colour first, shining bright green before he turned into a terrifying creature, more horrific than my worst nightmares ever conjured up. I screamed and would have crawled into the wall if I had been able to. I'm sure my nearest neighbours heard me and they live close to a mile away. I screamed until my throat was sore and raw. I had closed my eyes because I didn't want to see Death who had come to claim me.

"Foolish woman," I heard the creature say with a deep voice that still somehow reminded me of my handsome lover.

He dragged me into the bedroom and threw me on the bed. Instantly he was on top of me, tearing away at my clothes with the claws that were this creature's hands.

I was sobbing and begging him to stop, to let me live. His face came closer to mine; razor-sharp teeth were hovering above me. I was sure he was going to bite my face off, and I screamed again. His mouth pressed on mine to shut me up. Even though it was the mouth of a monster, it was Vergil's taste. I closed my eyes and tried to hold on to the feelings that his smell and taste awoke in me.

It didn't help as much as I'd hoped. He was rough, and when he entered me it hurt. He climaxed, withdrew, and got up from the bed, leaving me a frightened heap of human being. I couldn't look at him, but listened to his footsteps, hoping I would hear them walk out of the room, out of the front door, out of my life.

He stopped just inside the bedroom.

In his normal voice he said, "I should not have done this. It was dishonourable."

Then he left, and I knew this was all I was going to get as apology. No "I'm sorry", no "I didn't mean to hurt you", not a grain of tenderness.

So he wasn't a murderer on the run. He was a devil. I was sure he could still kill me without a second thought, without a grain of regret, without emotion.

ooOOoo

A week later he was back. Even without looking through the spyhole I knew it was him. Nobody else knocked on the door. Normal people just used the doorbell.

 _Normal people_. The thought brought back the fear I had felt. The fear of what he was. The fear of the creature, the devil, this perfect specimen of manhood could turn into. I stood there in the middle of the hallway, unable to move forward to open the door to him, unable to run and hide.

Suddenly the door came flying inward, hinges and lock torn from its surround. He stood in the doorway, his eyes shining, on the verge of changing into the creature. I found the use of my legs again, turned and ran … straight into him. Somehow he had moved from the door to the staircase in a matter of seconds. He grabbed my arms. I wanted to scream but I couldn't. I was shaking in fear.

"Please, please," was all I was able to stammer.

"That was a foolish action. I knew you were there, I could smell you. Do not try and keep me out again. Do not try to withhold what is mine. Is that understood?"

"I won't, I won't, I promise."

I could barely say the words. I was shaking with fear. My legs couldn't hold me up any longer and I thought I would fall on the ground at his feet, looking as small and insignificant as I felt. He scooped me up before I fell and carried me to the bedroom he always used.

"Get undressed," he ordered as he put me down on the bed. "Any item of clothing still on you when I return will be torn to shreds."

He went out in the hallway. From the noises I heard I guessed he was putting the broken door across the open doorway.

When he returned I had taken off everything but my underwear. A stubborn ember deep inside of me objected to sitting on the bed like the Christmas goose on the dinner table waiting for the feast to begin.

He stripped as well, putting his clothes in a neat pile on the chair next to the door. His cold smile when he turned and looked at me had nothing reassuring about it.

"I see you didn't get completely undressed."

I started fumbling with the closure of my bra, but he was already next to me and pushed my hands down. He was tender this time, caressing my body. He had unfastened my bra, slowly teased it off me, and dropped it on the floor. He kissed me and his tongue flicked between my lips. I tasted him and it should have been wonderful, but I was reminded of the last time. The fear of what he could become returned. My heart was beating fast. Despite his tenderness I couldn't enjoy it. I couldn't lose myself in the feelings he aroused in me.

"You did not respond as usual," he said afterwards.

"I'm sorry, it was my fault," I answered. I didn't want to anger him.

"You smell of fear."

"I'm sorry."

He said nothing more, and fell asleep. I lay next to him, awake. Not moving. My heart was beating fast. Eventually it calmed down, helped by the rhythm of his peaceful breathing. Then he moved and I panicked again.

He stayed the following day. The gentleness persisted, as if he wanted to make up for what his devil had done to me. It didn't lessen the fear. Instead it reminded me even more of the roughness he was capable of. Every time he moved my heart started to race, every time he reached out his hand to touch me I had to stop myself from whimpering.

It irritated him.

"You stink of fear. You don't respond to my touch. You lie there like a block of wood, unmoving, until I move or say something. Then you jump like a frightened rabbit. You are spoiling my enjoyment;" he said.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again, shaking in fear because I might have angered him.

"You should be sorry!" he shouted, even angrier because of my timidity it seemed. "You were a partner. We enjoyed each other, stimulated each other. Now you are nothing. A shivering sack of stinking meat."

That last remark ignited something inside me that I thought was dead. Like water that comes pouring through a break in a dam, my anger erupted. Yes, he could hurt me, kill me even, but at that moment I was past caring.

"And whose bloody fault is it that I'm afraid? You're a devil with anger issues. You took me just to fulfil your need, and it hurt. You raped me! And now I can only think, 'Will he change again? Will he hurt me again?' A shivering sack of stinking meat, indeed. Well, you caused it, you do something about it."

I sat up, ready to get out of the bed, but he pulled me back.

"Foolish woman. You need not be afraid. I enjoy your fire; I enjoy your body and your response to me. I should not have lost control the way I did even though I was angry because I thought you had used some love potion on me."

"A love potion? Yeah, I get it from the perfume counter. Love potion number Five, by Chanel," I said, not caring any longer what he did.

"Perhaps you should know my other side better," he growled, his voice already sounding deeper.

Next moment I was held by the monster again. Despite my earlier bravado my heart skipped a beat. He didn't do anything; just lay there with me in his arms. I looked at the face that didn't look human in the slightest. His smile showed enough teeth to make a shark jealous. Not a very reassuring thought. Two white horns curved upward from his temples. Between them grew snow-white quill-like hair. His entire body was covered in small blue scales. My curiosity won from my apprehension. I touched his arm and found it was not rough but soft. It didn't quite feel like skin, but wasn't like scales either. I stroked his chest, his abdomen, his thigh. I felt more than heard him moan. I stopped caressing him and looked into his demonic eyes.

"Let me love you," he said.

His clawed hand gently stroked me, sending shivers up and down my back. He kissed my neck, and despite all the teeth it was a delicate kiss.

This beast with its killer claws and fangs brought me to the edge of utter satisfaction as surely as he had done as my handsome lover, and I begged him to take me.

He warned me, "This could still hurt."

I didn't care. I wanted him, man and beast. It did feel uncomfortable, but what he gave me was worth it. Afterwards he didn't throw me out of the bed. I was lying with my back to him, his leathery wing covering me. He played with me making me gasp and moan, and eventually climax again.

"Where did you learn to be such a great lover," I asked. "Did some she-devil teach you?"

"Yes."

The answer was short and uninviting, but I wanted to know more.

"Why are you here? Why are you not at home? Why are you not in … Do you say Hell?"

"The Demon Realm, but Hell will do. It is not my home."

"Not? But you're a devil."

"I am half devil, half human. The son of Sparda and his wife Eva."

"Sparda? Like the Saviour of Mankind whose statue is in the park? Was he a relative?" I joked.

"He was my father."

It was a short answer that created more questions than it answered.

"How can he be your father? The statue is as old as the town and you are not. Or is your human form not really you?"

"It is irrelevant. Thinking about the past is of no use. It is history at best and cannot be changed. "

"It might help me figure you out."

"Doubtful."

He paused and I waited for him to continue … or not.

I made another attempt at conversation and asked, "Are you that old as well then?"

"Do not ask any more questions. I will not answer. Looking back is futile."

By now his voice sounded more like a growl, so I decided it was better not to push my luck. He changed into his devil anyway and when he used all his devilish tricks on me I forgot everything I wanted to ask or say, except the one thing he wanted to hear: that I was his.

I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder, wrapped in his wings. In the night I woke up when he moved. Instinctively, half asleep, I kissed his chest.

"Enough," he growled. "I have to go."

I rolled over and I shivered as his warmth left me. I vaguely remember that he pulled a blanket over me, and then I fell asleep again. In the morning he was gone. I had no idea for how long.

He returned regularly to satisfy his need. Mostly he was rough, frequently insulting, generally cold. And oh so rarely he would be tender. He would be more than the skilled lover who managed to fulfil both our needs. It was a coming together of souls, a unification of two beings that was pure feeling. It sounds lame, but how can it be explained when two become one. To this Vergil I would always open my door. Unfortunately I hardly ever opened to the soulmate. Usually he came as the rough lover. Just like that night.

ooOOoo


	4. Chapter 4

**He comes in the night**

 **Part4**

In front of the open fire, without tenderness he fulfilled his need and mine, leaving me more completely satisfied than the sweetest lover could ever have achieved. I closed my eyes and tried to take hold of the contentment to fill my whole being with it.

I heard Vergil return and sit down on the sofa. I knew he had poured a glass of the expensive whiskey that I kept just for him. He usually did.

"Your attempt at seduction is futile. I am no longer interested. Cover yourself."

"You bastard," I said, grabbing the last remnants of dignity I possessed.

"I can assure you I am not. Sparda and Eva were joined in several ceremonies: human, devil, and demon ones. She wanted to be sure about their union before allowing him to touch her. You on the other hand …"

He didn't finish his sentence. I picked up a cushion from the sofa and threw it at him with perfect accuracy. I hit the glass as he was raising it, and I smiled when the whiskey went over his clothes instead of in his mouth. I walked past him, ignoring the growl and the dangerous light in his eyes.

He grabbed my arm as I went by and pulled me round to face him.

"Don't you ever dare do that again," he said, still with the deep growl to his voice.

"Don't you ever call me a whore again," I retaliated.

"But you are a whore. I don't recall that we shared vows in front of witnesses."

"No, we didn't, but you know full well that no other man has touched me since I became yours. So don't insinuate I can be had by anyone."

"You could have stopped me the first time. Who knows, I might have respected you for it. Perhaps I would have made you my wife and mate, as Sparda did with Eva."

"Don't make me laugh. You're not the marrying kind; you're the using kind."

His grip on my arm had slackened. I pulled it free and left him to put some clothes on. Upstairs instead of getting dressed, I collapsed on the side of the bed. Why did I put up with his treatment of me? Why didn't I just tell him to fuck off and leave me alone? Because I had, and he had pulled me close, kissed me, aroused me, until he made me apologise to him for having used such words.

I cried because he could never give me what I wanted most: his whole self. I cried because I was willing to put up with getting the crumbs he occasionally threw at me.

"I am sorry, that was dishonourable."

I nearly jumped out of my skin when he talked. He had managed to come upstairs without touching the two creaking steps, or treading the squeaky floorboards.

"Eva would have been dismayed by my behaviour, and Sparda would have been disgusted. He would have challenged me to a duel to beat some sense into me. I know you want love. I cannot give you that. Love is a weakness that makes vulnerable and drains away power. Nothing can come in the way of the power I need."

"Love? I've given up on that idea long ago, Vergil. All I want is a bit of respect. Instead you make me feel used and discarded. You care more about your boots and gloves than you do about me. I wish I could dismiss you from my thoughts as easily as you do me, but I can't. You've made me say that I am yours repeatedly, and I am. It doesn't matter if you hurt me or reject me. I am yours. And even if you stop coming because you are bored with me, I will still be yours."

I was surprised he hadn't interrupted me and looked up to see if he was still there. I met his gaze but his eyes didn't show the usual cold indifference. Instead he studied me as if I were an unusual variety of well-known species.

Without breaking eye contact he came to the bed and sat down next to me. He was only half dressed; probably because I had made him spill his whisky all over his coat and vest. He caressed my face so gently. Little butterfly kisses landed on my eyes, my cheeks, my mouth. He gently nibbled my lips. His tongue flitted in as I opened my mouth. His taste filled me. His caresses made me giddy with anticipation. He stood up and unfastened his trousers. I scooted to the middle of the bed, admiring his body and the grace with which he moved. He joined me on the bed. In the game we played he was a master and I a mere beginner. He was in control and I was losing it.

"You are mine," he growled. "Say it. Say it. You are mine."

I could not think clearly any more. His voice filled the last bit of conscious thought.

"You are mine. Say it. Say it."

So I did.

"You are mine," I mumbled. Then more clearly I repeated, "You are mine."

He filled me completely, took me to a dizzying climax. I shouted out, a cry of victory.

"You Are Mine!"

For the first time since we had become lovers he too lost himself completely in our climax. I must have satisfied him before, fulfilled his need, but there had always been a part of him that remained in control. The part of him that could leave me and insult me immediately after a glorious orgasm; the part of him that sometimes decided to hold me and play with me for a bit.

This time nothing had been held back.

He did not leave me immediately. Raised up on his elbow he looked down on me.

"You _are_ a witch," he said. "How else did you know you should say that?"

I was confused at first, until I realised what he had made me say.

"You told me so. You kept insisting I should say 'you are mine'. I just did as I was told, like a good little plaything."

He fell back and lay staring at the ceiling, no doubt replaying the whole thing in his mind. Suddenly he started to laugh, cold and mirthless as usual. It was a laugh that sent shivers down my spine. The laughter stopped suddenly. He turned towards me. I couldn't understand why he looked at me with such a penetrating gaze. Then he started to laugh again, deep, rumbling. Joyful? I had never heard him laugh like that before.

"Vergil? Vergil, are you okay?" I asked.

I couldn't believe I was actually worried because he sounded happy. Only with Vergil.

"Yes, woman," he said. "I am fine."

He didn't sound angry which made me ask, "What happened?"

"There is an old demon ritual used by demons and devils alike. A dominant partner makes the object of his desires say, 'I belong to you'. It is binding for the weaker partner until the stronger partner dissolves it by saying, 'I don't want you any longer'."

"Charming," I interrupted. "The countdown has started, has it?"

He chuckled, which sounded strange coming from him.

"If the dominant partner instructs the weaker partner to say, 'You are mine' and the weaker partner complies then they have completed the oldest and simplest demon mating ritual, and it is as binding as any contract signed by twelve dozen witnesses."

"What do you mean?" I asked, certain it couldn't be that he and I … that we … surely not.

He rolled on top of me, held my head in his hands, and in a solemn voice said, "I am Vergil, Son of Sparda, and you are my mate."

"M…m…mate?"

"Mate, wife, partner, whatever you want to call it."

Before I could ask or say anything else, he kissed me, gently at first, then more demanding. When it finally dawned on me that he truly was mine, I responded with all the feelings I had held back before. It was the sweetest, most fulfilling, exhilarating and satisfying lovemaking ever.

Afterwards he still didn't leave me, but held me close to him.

"As my mate you have the right to know the story of my family and me. Your curiosity will finally be satisfied, but you may not like what you hear."

"Obviously you're the black sheep in the family. It doesn't take a genius to figure that one out. Ouch! Did you just bite me?"

"Shut up and listen," he said as to a naughty child. "I will tell you all, but afterwards never ask me about this again. I will not respond."

He paused. To gather his thoughts? To put memories in chronological order?

"I know the legend of Sparda," I said. "My history teacher considered it part of the history of our town and the city. She said that about two thousand years ago a devil named Sparda woke up to justice and fought for the humans against his own kind. He was victorious and closed the gates that connected our world with … with the Demon Realm you called it. He did the same in the island kingdom of Fortuna and became its ruler."

"Did she say anything else, your teacher?"

There was mockery in his voice, but I continued.

"She also said that he married a human who bore him a son, and the son continues to protect the human race. Obviously she got that one wrong."

"Your teacher was remarkably well informed," he said. "That is indeed the true story, except that Eva didn't bear Sparda a son. She gave birth to twin sons, white-haired and blue-eyed like their father."

"Oh my god, you're the evil twin."

"Do not interrupt," he said and I realised that this was not an easy story for him to tell.

He continued, "The boys showed their father's inheritance, and he started training them from an early age. They were still no more than children when Sparda disappeared. His fate remains a mystery. Eva kept the children safe and continued their training for a few more years until the day demons found them and attacked. Eva told her children to hide while she took on the demon horde singlehandedly. The children from their hiding place saw how she was losing the battle. One child cowered in fear; the other jumped up, sword in hand to defend his mother. He was too weak. He saw his mother die as he was dragged into the Demon Realm. His own sword was stabbed through him, pinning him to a grave stone that bore his name. His devil was awakened and he took revenge on those that had taken him there."

I knew it was his own story he was telling me, but his voice was even, emotionless, as if he were reading an event in a book.

"I'm sorry," I said. "How old were you?"

" _Eight._ "

It was blurted out, and I realised what superhuman effort it took for him to remain detached from the things he told me.

"He wanted Sparda's power to kill the Demon Emperor, Sparda's former Lord and worst enemy of anyone of Sparda's bloodline. He was nineteen when success was within his grasp … and he lost it all, stopped by his twin who did not care for Sparda's legacy. In the end he chose the Demon Realm, Sparda's home or so he thought."

There was contempt in his voice when he said, "Foolish! Arrogant! He challenged the Demon Emperor Mundus and was defeated. Not killed. That would have been honourable. Instead he became a mindless puppet. Champion to Mundus, and slave to Solaris, Mundus' sister."

"You were young," I said and caressed his face.

He pushed my hand away.

"I was a fool, and I paid for it. For nine years I was enslaved by Mundus and Solaris, used and abused by both. Then an enemy came, strong, dangerous. I was sent out to kill him, and would have, but an amulet he wore tore at my mind, pushed against walls I hadn't realised were there. I retreated, challenged him again, and had to retreat a second time. The third time Mundus gave me back the power he had taken. He wanted to destroy the enemy so badly."

I sat cross-legged on the bed, and had seen emotions flitting across his face: pain, contempt, disgust, but never fear. It pained him to relive the past.

"You don't have to tell me all this if-"

"I do!" he snarled. "You need to know who your mate is."

"Bit late if I wanted to change my mind, isn't it?"

He pulled me down on top of him.

"Witch," he said. "Succubus."

"Cute petn-"

He shut me up with a kiss. A long while after he continued in the same even, unemotional voice.

"He was strong, this enemy. In the end all my strength was not enough. And then the walls crumbled. I knew that I was Vergil, son of Sparda, and that I had been defeated again by my brother who reeked of humanity, who had only found his devil because I had forced it on him. Nine years earlier I had stabbed him with his own sword when he stood between me and my goal: Sparda's power."

I gasped audibly, but he ignored me.

"I was pulled back into the Demon Realm, vanquished, stripped of my powers, a mere human. Mundus would have killed me, but Solaris hoped that in my weakened condition I would finally say that I was hers. With all his champions defeated, Mundus answered my brother's challenge. Solaris watched the fight, and I – a crumpled piece of humanity at her feet – saw it too. Sparda's power. My human-loving brother, who had never wanted any part of it, had found Sparda's power, not in the Demon Realm, not in the Human Realm, but within himself. A son of Sparda banished Mundus to a corner of the Demon Realm. I hated him for succeeding where I had failed."

"But he's your brother, your twin! You can't have hated him all the time!"

"I believe we were close as children. Dwelling on the past is futile. One forgets to focus on one's goals."

"And yet, if we forget the past we are doomed to repeat its mistakes."

"You frequently repeat mistakes. Such as interrupting me," he said in his most ice-cold voice.

He waited a while as if to make sure I would keep quiet. I just wanted him to hurry up. I wanted to know how he had ended on my porch.

"Solaris used all her powers to make me hers. Starvation and torture followed by tenderness, and more torture when I still did not give in. But there, in my weakest moment, I found a spark of Sparda's power within me. I pretended to be feebler than I really felt, and when the opportunity presented itself I broke out of my prison.

"Escaping from the Demon Realm proved more difficult than I anticipated. My strength ran out too quickly, forcing me to hide like a weakling. Injuries didn't heal instantly making me lose more time. Eventually I found an exit, a portal to the Human World guarded by minor demons. I studied, chose my target, acquired its weapon, attacked, and left de Demon Realm.

"I was free. Badly injured, exhausted, a pitiful wreck, but free. I kept running, walking, crawling until I found a lonely house. There were no demons anywhere near it. I wanted to rest, heal, eat, find some clothes, and be on my way again, but I collapsed and passed out before I reached the door."

"And that's where I found you."

"Yes, my witch, my succubus, that's where you found me, and cared for me."

"But if you despise humans, why make me yours? Or was that just your usual cruelty?"

"I did not intend to. I have no need for a female in my life. Your obvious desire aroused a response within me, but had you not touched me I would not have taken what you offered."

"I see. My fault for finding you attractive. But that could have been a one off. Why make me say I was yours alone, turning me into your … what? Sex slave?"

"Property," he said so casually it made me shiver. "Marked as mine. Even Dante has enough Devil sense to know he couldn't save you from me. I will always find you, in this Realm or any other."

"Dante? Your brother I presume. That's really taking sibling rivalry to the limit."

"But you had your revenge, because I could not stay away from your fire and spirit. I hated you for it and wanted to punish you for using some spell on me."

"So you decided to introduce me to your devil and nearly frightened me to death."

"And nearly lost my fire-breathing witch." He looked pensive. "It was despicable and dishonourable. I cannot forgive myself for what happened then."

I realised we had both been scarred by that moment.

"Don't dwell on the past, remember?"

"But don't repeat its mistakes. I do not know if I will always be able to control my devil, especially since you can be most infuriating"

"Let's not dwell on it. It may never happen. Just remember that you don' like me timid and quiet. And you haven't told me the complete story. Your clothes and sword, they really are yours, aren't they? How did you know where to find them?"

"I told you what you needed to know. I also said I would not answer more questions."

"You didn't tell the whole story, so I have to ask questions."

"Tonight only. Yes, they are mine. My clothes and Yamato had been taken from me after my defeat by Mundus and had been made the price in a card game. I knew the cheating demon that had won them. I knew where he played his cheating games in the Human World. When I was ready I went to see him and requested he return them to me."

I remembered the wound he'd had when we'd come back from the city. I was sure the demon didn't survive Vergil's 'request'. I had another question.

"So, Vergil, son of Sparda, what will you do with the rest of your life? Continue what you've been doing these last few months?"

"Yes."

"And that is?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"Are you my mate or just a passing stranger?"

He looked at me with that cold, emotionless expression of his.

Then as if he had come to a conclusion he said, "I am a Son of Sparda and I will follow in his footsteps."

"Join your brother perhaps? That's his line of business too, isn't it?"

"It is, but the idea that we could work together is a foolish one."

"But-"

"No! You infuriating witch. I will try not to kill him if our paths should cross, but that is all. And now the subject is closed."

He growled out the words and what happened next was no surprise. His devil claimed me, but I was more than ready for my mate. I gave him my whole self, and I believe he didn't hold back either. Afterwards he held me close to him instead of getting up and leaving me. I snuggled deeper into his embrace and he chuckled again, as if he still couldn't quite believe he had made me his mate. I felt satisfied, fulfilled, complete.

In the morning when I woke up he was gone already.

I have no idea where he goes to and only a vague idea of what he does. I know that he still wants his revenge, and that he doesn't care about the danger.

I also know he'll come back to me in the night out of the darkness.

And I will open the door to him, because I am his.

And I will open the door to him, because he is mine.

THE END

* * *

 **A.N. : As you can see this was the last part of the story. I hope you've enjoyed it. Thanks to everybody who read it, reviewed it, followed it, and/or added it to favourites lists. **


End file.
